


Stories of the Second Self: Fiending

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [73]
Category: National Guard - Fandom, Urban Fantasy - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Second year of the federal occupation, and Dale Groneck has learned the smoothest path through National Guard checkpoints in Cincinnati. However, entering his home after a blood deal, he finds someone going through his bathroom cabinets. Realizing the living person is a drug addict, Dale decides to risk daylight to walk the person back to a checkpoint in hopes of getting the addict rehabilitation.
Series: Alter Idem [73]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Fiending

It's late and I gotta get inside. By late, I mean predawn light is coming up the eastern horizon and I've decided I'm not suicidal after all. So, I get back to my home, yes I got a house now, since half the city lost their minds. Snapped it up off the market for less than what a cell phone cost.

Anyway, I fumble at my keys what with these thick gloves on, and finally manage unlock my door. Starting for my kitchen to put the two pints of blood I bought into the fridge, I hear something in my bathroom down the hall. Blood doesn't keep, so I go to my fridge anyway, and toss the two bags, filled taunt, onto the top shelf before closing the door.

All my windows are blocked out with a beige paint from the inside, so it's safe to take off my gloves and tight-weave coat with the hood. I don't have time to take off the second pair of jeans I wear when I'm out. Then I slip off my shoes and head for the bathroom. See, that's a thing with us, that the moment I'm barefoot I get real quiet so long as I'm careful.

Yeap, that's my medicine cabinet being opened. Funny, 'cause I don't have medicine in there and don't need it. Whoever's in here will only find a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouth wash. Hemoglobin breath really puts people off, even if they're not already scared shitless of me.

Then, as I get to the door, I see the guy and say something, "Really? What did you think you'd find here?"

The scrawny, unwashed, and bent in all kinds of angles dude jumps out of his skin as he spins around with his arms up before him. "Fuck!"

"No, seriously," I say, realizing that he's staring more at my teeth than my eyes, "What do you think you're doing in here?"

"Shit," he blurts out and starts bullshitting me, "I was just checkin' if anybody was home."

"Uh-huh, right," I scoff, looking him down and up. "Did you knock? How'd you get in? My door was locked when I got home."

"Sorry man," he stammers, not comfortable with my having sized him up, "Just was feelin' sick and... You don't have anything I could use to get by do you?"

"Fiending, you mean," I say with some sympathy, though my fix is a difference sort, "Do I look like I'd have drugs around here? Think about it."

"I'll just get out," he's practically bawling with his hands up. "Don't bite me, please. I- I won't do it again. I'm sorry, man."

"Look," I sound irritable but dismissive, "I just made a couple purchases, and I don't Open Feed anyway. Just think twice before you go bustin' into someone's place. Besides, the National Guard guys are edgy with people like me around here."

"Do you think they have somethin' for me?" he ventures, still hoping for a hit. "'Cause I'm hurtin' bad. Got the shakes 'n shit."

They say we're just a bunch of sociopaths, or just extremely apathetic, I guess. Yet, something tells me I might do myself a favor if I help this guy out. At the very least, it's one less tweaker breaking into my house.

"I got an idea," I say to him with a hand up. "I know where a checkpoint is. They got medics and stuff like that there. Why don't I take 'ya down there, and you can see about getting some help. You look like you could use some detox."

"Nah man, I'm cool," he says unconvincingly, "I'll just get going."

He squeals like a startled kid when I grab his upper arm. The movies make us out to be, like, warp-speed fast, but it's not true. My reflexes aren't any different, but once I have a hold of something my grip's pretty much steel. It's funny, 'cause I was never one for working out, and don't look at all strong.

"Don't be that way," I say with exasperation and drag him out of the bathroom. "The way shit's goin' down I doubt even dealers for your stuff will be easy to find anymore."

"Really," his voice raises an octave, "I won't come back anymore. Just don't bite me, please!"

"What part of 'I don't Open Feed' don't you get?" I shout, forgetting that he's already about to die of fright.

I toss him into my recliner, so that I can get my coat and gloves back on. I pull the drawstring of the hood extra tight to where I can barely see out. Then I grab him by his arm again, and he's got that 'Don't Hit Me, Daddy' look before I haul him to my front door.

After gauging morning shadows I lead the way out, keys ready, and realize I'm fresh outta free hands. "Okay, I'm going to let go long enough to close and lock the door. Don't make me chase you down, because I don't run out of breath. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he squeaks and becomes withdrawn.

"That's more like it, dude," I reply and lock my door again.

Once again holding him, I pick my way to the sidewalk with my head low and a glove up to further shade what little of my face is exposed. Yeah, sun's up now, and it's like knowing there's a giant heat lamp waiting to sizzle my shit the moment I get sloppy.

The Guard checkpoint is little over a mile away and around a couple streets. More people are out now, and I hear a couple Stryker vehicles pass by. After so many months of marshal law and occupation, I learned the sound of their army trucks.

Chancing peaks here and there, I sight the Guard checkpoint and walk right up to it. Already, a couple guys standing by the booth get nervous and walk toward me with their hands on their holstered guns. On their arms I see 'MP' and recognize the one on the left as Jake Hemming.

"Alright, stop right there, sir," Jake calls out, unable to see who I am.

"Hey Jake," I call to him, "I need a favor for this guy."

"Dale, is that you?" Jake asks and lean over a bit for a better look.

"Yeah," I affirm and wave to the junkie intruder. "Do you guys have some kind of rehab thing set up? This guy's an addict and I'm tryin' to get him some help, so that he's not busting into my house again."

"He--," Jake needs a moment to believe that, and points at me still with an incredulous look on his face, "He broke into your house?"

"Ah- I don't think he knew what he was getting into, dude," I suggest, and feel the guy squirm enough under my grip to confirm it.

"Ho, oh man!" Jake looks away, thinking that's some funny shit and shakes his head with a grin. "Takes all kinds, huh Dale?"

"Normally I'd have just tossed him out," I say, "But, really, he's lookin' pretty bad. So, do your medic guys have some place they can get him clean?"

"Ahh," Jake draws out with uncertainty, "I'll have to talk to my sergeant about it, and you'll have to go through inspection too, you know, just to make sure."

"Yeah, I know the deal," I accept, having passed through this checkpoint to submit my blood purchases for inspection.

"Okay, I'll go get her," Jake turns to trot off, and waves to the other Guardsman, "Pierce, I need you cover for me a sec."

A couple minutes go by, before Jake comes back with this short blonde woman in digital camouflage clothes just like his. She comes right up to me with a small pen light and directs me, "Sir, I need you to turn west for me."

Still keeping a hold on the guy, I follow the order and get the intense LED light in the face again. "Argh, that's gonna take some gettin' used to."

"Do you have anything you want to declare?" she asks.

"Just him," I say, and think about it before adding, "I mean, he's an addict and I was getting him some help. No, I didn't offer drugs for blood."

"Step this way," she instructs with am arm gesture.

I wouldn't have noticed a year ago, but these army types all do their signs and waves and stuff the same way. It's this about-the-elbow and knife-hand pose when they're being formal in their duty.

The sergeant walks me over to the gate and demands, "ID?"

"Yeah, I got it right here," I oblige and make sure not to reach too fast.

Figured that out after the first time, when four people rolled out with UVC lights the size of clubs. She takes my ID and scans it before handing it back, and moving me and the junkie into a tent with other Guardsmen.

"Okay sir, uncover," she orders again and calls out to the soldiers inside. "I have a patient here suffering withdrawal symptoms."

"Hey, thanks man," the junkie says while being escorted away. "I'm sorry 'bout all that shit before."

"Ah, it's okay," I answer, but avoid waving it off. "Just don't do that again."

"When's the last time you fed?" the sergeant asks while examining my cheeks and lips, before taking my gloves off and turning over my hands.

"Yesterday, about three a.m. I think," I answer.

"Were you alone at the time?" she presses further.

It's an interesting question I realize, and I wonder how many of us get tripped up into admitting they were feeding directly off someone. "Yes, I was. It was in my house. Same address as listed on my ID."

"Okay," she accepts and turns to pick up a printed form. "I'll need you to read through and sign this to affirm any statements made are accurate to the best of your knowledge."

I take the form from her, making sure not to touch her hand or get anywhere near that, and then accept a pen from her. Skimming the form, I then fill out the blanks to questions about why I'm at the checkpoint and list the guy I brought. In the comments box I write in that I found the guy in my house, and state that I brought him immediately here.

The instant the pen stops moving she takes the form and instructs, "Okay sir, you may cover up again and leave through the gate as directed."

"Thank you," I reply, and flip the hood back on before gloving up.

Jake walks me through the gate and I head back home again. Things seem to have come down a notch with these army guys, so walking down the road I remind myself to go online to check the news.


End file.
